Cashmere's Story
by o.Tigerlily.o
Summary: A surge of pity rips through me as this poor child stares at me with fear evident in her eyes, but that doesn't stop me from pouncing on her and plunging my knife deep into her chest. "Happy Hunger Games," I whisper. Cashmere's POV. ONESHOT.


**Cashmere's Story**

_Someone's coming._ I immediately crouch down to hunting position, slowly drawing my knife from my belt. Twigs snap. The person I'm about to kill isn't experienced. Not at all. Another twig snaps before I see her. Long blonde hair, deep violet eyes with flecks of orange in them. She's pretty – but not as pretty as me. A surge of pity rips through me as this poor child stares at me with fear evident in her eyes, but that doesn't stop me from pouncing on her and plunging my knife deep into her chest.

"Happy Hunger Games," I whisper.

She dies quickly and the cannon fires as I retrieve my blade. This precious blade has been through six games in all. My great-grandmother won with this blade and refused to let go of it when she was crowned victor. Since then, she has been bribing the head Gamemaker to put this precious knife in the Cornucopia for her descendants to find.

And indeed, it was used well. My great-grandmother, my grandfather, my aunt, my father, and my brother used it to win the Games. And soon, _very_ soon, I will too, using this precious blade.

Because my family is a family of victors. My brother Gloss won the games last year, and I'm determinded to be the next victor. I've been training since I was seven and I volunteered (naturally) for this weak fourteen-year-old. I'm eighteen and in the top four of the 66th Hunger Games. My kill list is up to fourteen now. I've killed more than half of the tributes, including all of my fellow Careers, who were just getting too irritating. I'm proud. I'll kill the remaining tributes – the threes and an annoying seven who continues to elude me – and soon enough, that victor crown will be _all_ mine.

I'm right. The next day, I'm crowned victor. The Games lasted only four days. Of course they did. I was in them, after all. I'm smug. My brother and I will be the mentors of the District 1 victors to come. And there WILL be victors. _I'm_ mentoring, aren't I?

_Eight years later…_

It's pretty irritating, seeing your tributes die for eight years. But no matter. This year's is sure to win. What's her name? Glimmer, isn't it? She's gorgeous and strong. Exactly what a tribute SHOULD be (unlike those other filthy districts). I know exactly how we're going to play my tribute's interviews. Sexy, and _dangerous_. She _will_ win.

No. _No. NO!_ I'm supposed to be continuing the legacy of District 1 victors! This isn't happening. I'm hallucinating. Because a District TWELVE tribute cannot have just killing my precious Career tribute! Tracker jacker stings? Impossible!

_Later…_

Gloss is as shocked and angry as I am when that filthy PIG shot our male tribute. He was good, and I liked him, though not quite as much as the girl.

I'm absolutely furious when the District 12 tributes are crowned as victors. Oh, mark my words, when the next Hunger Game comes rolling by, the District 12 tributes better watch themselves…

_One year later…_

Excellent. I can bury my knife blade into the little squirt myself. To avenge my tribute. She should have won. She _would _have won, if that weakling hadn't dropped the nest on her head.

I'm going back into the Games with my brother and I'll be crowned victor once again. Victor of victors! Of course, my winning means death for my brother, but I was always more popular than him anyway. People love me more, so it won't be any sort of loss, right?

_Later…_

This is too easy. I expected more from Johanna. Really? Sitting _right_ there without a guard. How stupid is that? Gloss runs over to Nuts, the crazy three, and slits her throat in a smiley face. I smile at that. Then, suddenly, as I'm about to throw the precious blade that's been in my family for four generations, I'm overwhelmed by searing pain through my chest. An axe blade. I hate Johanna. I start to lose consciousness, and see Gloss is dead. _Oh well, _I think. _I survived longer than him._

I shut my eyes and let myself fall.


End file.
